


Five Good Deeds (And One That Maybe Was Too Good)

by deaneatscake



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5 Times, First Kiss, M/M, basically just tries to be fluff, first... lots of things, human!Cas, pies trees flowers and sex basically sums it up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 14:30:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11292591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deaneatscake/pseuds/deaneatscake
Summary: When Sam picks up a new book – “150 good deeds to brighten everyone’s day” – to help Cas after becoming human, Dean’s definitely not getting jealous. And he’s also definitely not getting into a bet with Sam about who can do the better things – one of which definitely doesn’t involve kissing Castiel. Nope, Dean wouldn’t even dream of that.





	Five Good Deeds (And One That Maybe Was Too Good)

**Author's Note:**

> I SERIOUSLY THOUGHT I COULD FINISH THIS IN 2000 WORDS BUT I APPARENTLY CAN’T DO SUCH THING VERY SAD

It all starts, of course, with Sam and a book. Dean loves Sam and he loves books. Individually. But put them together – and you get a huge pile of bad ideas.

It’s not Dean’s fault that they’re stopping at the side of the road next to a bookstore in a small town in Kansas; it’s just that Cas insisted on stopping because, you see, next to the bookstore there’s the only supermarket in town that features Cas’ specific brand of energy drink that he’s so keen on.

Dean didn’t have the heart to tell Cas to _fuck off we’re driving back to the bunker now, the case is finished stop moping_ (as he would definitely have told Sam) so yeah, now he’s sitting there in the Impala, listening to Taylor Swift and watching Cas and Sam respectively, one in the supermarket piling up as many cans in his arms as he possibly can fit and the other one in the bookstore browsing the “cute gifts for your loved ones” ( _and seriously, what the heck_ ) section because he didn’t want to ‘sit in the heat while Cas is shopping, you know how long he takes’.

Fair point, it definitely had been at least 20 minutes. Dean sighs and puts his head on the steering wheel. It is fairly hot, hot enough for Dean to shrug off his flannel about half-way into the case (just your average run-of-the-mill-ghost) and Cas, of course, has done the same.

It has been both a blessing and a curse when Cas became human – of course, this means that now he can _actually_ see all these muscles, but of course, it also means that he now _has_ to see all these muscles. “This doesn’t even make any sense,” he groans quietly and leans his head back again. The heat is getting to him, dammit.

“What doesn’t make any sense?” Sam asks as slides into the passenger seat, a suspicious bag in his lap.

“ _You_ don’t make any sense,” Dean flips back. He definitely doesn’t have to tell his brother any of his thoughts he just had because… well for one, little brothers shouldn’t snoop and B, it’s none of his business away. _And that didn’t make any sense too_. “What the fuck did you buy anyway? Reading about monsters not enough for you anymore?”

Sam looks out of the window and watches Cas who’s trying to pay for his at least 7 cans now. He still has a bit trouble with money sometimes – why do the 1 and 2 dollar bill look so familiar anyway? – but seems to do quite fine on his own for now. Thank God.

“Well,” he finally says, “I’ve got something for Cas.” He cautiously puts a small book out of the bag.

“ _150 good deeds to brighten everyone’s day_? What the fuck Sam? That sounds like some kind of yoga-kale-listen-to-your-inner-child-new-age-bullshit.”

“That sounds like you think about these things quite an awful lot,” Sam answers casually. “And no, it’s not like that. I just thought I could… do nice stuff for Cas. I mean I know he seems to be adjusting really well, I just feel like… he deserves more, you know?”

Dean snatches the book away from Sam and flips through the pages. ‘Do something together for the environment’, ‘build a piece of furniture for the one you love’, ‘listen’… wow. _This is some serious new-age-bullshit_ , Dean thinks. “And you want to… what, build of piece of furniture for Cas, _the one you love_?” And just to make this clear, his voice is dripping with sarcasm, _not_ jealousy.

“Well, I probably have to sort it out a bit. What do you care anyway what I do?”

“You’ll probably do it wrong anyway! I know Cas much better than you do and I can tell you that he probably won’t appreciate” – and now he randomly picks out a page again – “if you gift him your clothes. Jesus, they won’t even _fit_. He’s gonna _drown_.”

Sam shoots him an annoyed look. “Dean, if you want to say you can do it better, just do it better. I’m just trying to do some nice things, you know?”

“You bet your ass I can do it better! Give me five of these things and I’ll be done with them in no time!”

“Fine,” Sam throws up his hands in defeat. “Give me that book, I’ll pick out five deeds for you, five for me, we’ll give each other five days and then we’ll see who can _do it better._ ” With that, he snatches the little book back.

Now Dean grumbles. This wasn’t exactly what he wanted, he just wanted to prove a point, but… a bet’s a bet right? And he could do _all_ of these things. Easy-peasy. At least his clothes would _fit_ (and they already have proof of that because a lot of Cas’ clothes once belonged Dean).

So, of course, he agrees. “I’ll win anyway, but sure, whatever.” Cas is apparently finished now, emerging out of the store and Sam hastily puts the book back in the bag.

“Loser has to do clean up monster guts for the next month,” Sam quickly says before Cas enters the car. Dean only shoots him an annoyed glance, but because Cas is already in the backseat and offering them both a drink, he can’t exactly talk back.

And so it happens that Sam knocks on his door in the evening, 10 slips of paper in his hand. “Pick five,” he says proudly. “I picked them at random from the book.”

He does look a little bit _too_ smug for Dean’s taste, but he nevertheless complies. One by one, he picks and opens them – the first two are okay, ‘do something creative with the one you love’ (and Dean pointedly doesn’t think about why Sam didn’t leave out the _one you love_ part) and ‘plant a tree’ (okay, that one’s a little bit weird, but hey, they’ve got plenty of free space outside the bunker, so why the fuck not). ‘bake a pie’ is a great idea, too, even though he regrets that he’ll probably have to give the majority of the pie to Cas in order for it to count, but he’ll probably get at least a _slice_ , so.

The next one – well. ‘give someone flowers’ is already a little… weird, because Dean doesn’t give people flowers, he _doesn’t_ (except Lisa that one time. She had laughed and told him that he should never do it again because it’s not like him).

He only remotely notices Sam who already has read all his pieces of paper grinning widely as he opens the last one. ‘kiss the one you love’ – Dean crumbles the paper in shock. “Dude!” he screams. “I thought you said you wanted to _s_ _ort them out a bit_. What the fuck is this?”

“Oh, what do you mean?” Sam asks nonchalantly while taking the crumbled paper out of Dean’s hand and it’s a farce, Dean knows this, he _knows_ this. This little bastard really thought he could do this shit and force him to lose the bet – or worse, _out_ him like that, just like this. Not that there is anything _to_ out, of course. “Kiss the one you love,” Sam reads out loud. “Well, I guess I must have missed that one.”

“You wrote this stuff on here _yourself_.”

“Yeah, as I said, must have missed that one. Sorry, man.” And now Sam is done holding back his laughter and it’s unfair, it’s _fucking_ unfair.

“But I – I don’t want to kiss Cas,” Dean tries, but there is no real anger behind it (not that this means anything). He also is in no mood to try to interpret the way Sam looks at him when he says that.

“Well, and I don’t want to” – he looks at his five slips of paper – “wash his fucking car, but hey, we gotta do what we gotta do. And if you don’t you know what’s waiting for you.” Sam’s still laughing, way too smug for his own good, and leaves the room, waving him goodbye.

“You bastard!” Dean screams into the void that Sam had conveniently left. “Screw you and your cleanup duty! I bet you rigged this so you’d win! I’m _not_ gonna have that!”

Yeah, Dean’s not gonna let Sam have that. Not possible. He’s the older brother and he knows Cas way better than Sam. He _can’t_ let Sam win. This of course means that Dean _has_ to kiss Cas, because a bet’s a bet. It’s not because he wants to. _Obviously_.

It’s not until a little while later that he realizes he doesn’t actually know what Sam’s deeds are.

 

**1.**

 

Dean’s been wondering the whole next morning if he should be doing them in the order he had drafted them but since he doesn’t know what ‘do something creative with the one you love’ could entail (his creativity is mostly limited to flavoring Mac’n’Cheese differently) he decides to start with the – for him – easiest one: ‘bake a pie’.

Of course, it has to be apple pie and of course, he has to go all the way. He picks up everything himself, visits a farmer’s market for the apples (screw the genetically modified apples you find at the local supermarket) and even does a test pie. Maybe this also has to do with the fact that he wants to eat one himself, but it’s also a great way to see if his baking skills are still in order.

Sam has conveniently taken Cas out to the garage where he is probably washing Cas’ car – Dean will have to ask Cas if he actually did most of the process because otherwise that bet has already failed and he can go back to his own business without thinking about _kissing Cas_ every waking moment (and some he spent sleeping) – so he can bake both pies without a hurry.

He is just taking out the second one out of the oven (the first one is already half gone) when Cas comes back into the kitchen, looking tired but definitely not dirty. Dean sighs; Sam’s actually taking this seriously. _Dean isn’t, of course_.

“Heya, Cas!” he says and tries to hide the pie behind his back. It would have been very graceful if not for the cake tin that still is very hot and brushing over the piece of skin on his wrist that isn’t covered by oven mittens.

Dean screams.

“Dean!” Cas hurries to his side. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

With a grim smile, Dean nods and drops the cake tin on the counter behind him. “Sure, Cas, just… fine.” He looks at his wrist, now showing a huge red stripe that burns like hell. “Holy _shit_.”

“I’ve heard that you’re supposed to hold burns under lukewarm water, not cold one,” Cas helpfully supplies. He doesn’t seem to notice the huge pie in the background; Dean is kind of grateful for that. “Doing this with cold water is actually a misconception. What did you do when you burned yourself?”

“Yeah, well… thanks, Cas. And I did – I did _something_.”

Cas tilts his head. “Something,” he echoes and tries to reach out for Dean’s wrist. Dean can’t have that, obviously. He tries to follow a _plan_ and getting touched by Cas isn’t part of it. So he flinches.

“Yeah, something. Look, I’ll deal with that later” – he looks at the burn that now starts to pulse and send pain in waves – “I just, you know, hey Cas, when’s your birthday anyway? Wasn’t it on a Thursday?”

“No.” Cas looks still worried and maybe a little bit hurt (Dean tries not to think about that). “I’m the _Angel_ of Thursday. When I was created, there were no days. And even if there were, the days have gotten progressively longer during the last millennia. Not by much, of course, but considering I’ve been here since the dawn of time it actually adds up a significant amount –”

“Jesus, Cas, shut up, I was just trying to do small talk, let’s just – let’s just say your birthday’s on a Thursday, okay? And maybe today? Today’s a Thursday!”

“Why?” Cas asks incredulously.

Dean blinks. _Why indeed_. He doesn’t even know where he’s going with this. This, of course, is a Winchester trademark, so nothing special. “Because I – well it’s not a big thing, but I kind of – baked you a pie? A _birthday_ pie of course. It has a purpose. It’s nothing special. I mean – JUST EAT THE DAMN PIE.”

And with that, Dean stumbles out of the kitchen, his pulsing wrist still in hand. He has done his good deed, after all.

It’s not until a little while later that he realizes he hasn’t actually shown Cas the pie.

 

**2.**

 

Cas doesn’t say anything about the pie and Dean is very grateful for that. He’s doing this to win a bet. He doesn’t need Cas’ validation, he doesn’t need to know if Cas actually liked the pie.

(Because Dean has enjoyed the first one and _screw Cas if he didn’t like the second one because Dean was nice and he baked this pie just for him and Cas didn’t even_ _ **bother**_ _to tell him how he liked it this bastard he could have at least come into his bedroom to tell him and_ –)

The next day, Dean decides to plant the goddamn tree because he still has no idea what creative stuff he can do with Cas and he most certainly doesn’t want to pick him some flowers (the kissing thing has, without further questioning, been moved to the very last day).

As soon as the day breaks he drives Cas’ truck to a tree nursery, gets into a small fight with the employee there because she is apparently not very happy about the fact that Dean doesn’t know _which_ _kind_ _of tree he fucking wants_ and finally settles on a small birch tree that he can easily fit inside the trunk.

Back at the bunker he knocks on Cas’ door, waits for Cas’ muffled invitation and steps in. Cas is sitting in front of his laptop (just a small thing Dean has bought him because Cas deserved it – and hey, wasn’t that a good deed too?!) and pulling headphones out of his ear.

“Hello Dean,” he says and smiles. “I’ve just listened to some music Sam brought me. Do you want to listen, too?” With that, he pats the empty space on his bed as an invitation.

Dean stills. He’d love to, but… he has a plan. A very good plan. That still didn’t involve touching (they’d get there soon enough, Dean shudders). “What kind of music?” he asks instead, not moving at all.

“A collection of different artists Sam thought I might find enjoyable.” Cas doesn’t look sad, he _doesn’t_. “What do you want here, then?” he asks as if it has been perfectly reasonable that Dean simply came to his room to sit on his bed and listen to music with Cas. It’s _not_.

“Well, I wanted to plant a tree with you.”

Cas’ eyes widen at the idea. “Dean, I’m not an Angel anymore, I can’t possible carry a tree. I’m sorry but I’m of no use for you.”

 _That’s not true_ , Dean thinks compulsively, but he swallows it down. “Relax, Cas, it’s a small tree,” he replies instead and gives him a flirtatious wink. “I just need your help shoveling a hole and… stuff. It’ll be fun, come on.”

“Why don’t you ask Sam?”

“Because Sam’s a bore and would probably only be reading a book about proper gardening. So you coming or not?” He says it very nonchalantly. He doesn’t, in fact, care _at all_ if Cas actually wants to do this with him.

He releases a sharp breath _he hasn’t been holding_ when Cas agrees and closes the laptop to join him.

Because they have no idea what to actually do – and the internet says about ten different things, especially concerning stabilizing the tree – they spend the better half of the day trying everything until they’re finally pleased with the result.

Or at least Cas is who looks down at his phone and then the tree again, back and forth, brows furrowed in concentration. “I think we’re good,” he finally says and wipes his forehead, leaving behind a trace of dirt. Dean resists the urge to wipe it away. “Do you want to come and eat the pie with me?”

“Pie?” Dean freezes.

“Yes. You baked it for me, remember? I didn’t want to try it without you and… well, you seemed kind of upset yesterday. How’s your burn anyway?”

Dean looks at the bandage around his wrist. “It’s… alright, I think,” he answers. “So, you haven’t eaten the pie yet?”

“As I said, no, I haven’t. Do you want to or not?”

“Of course I do,” Dean says dumbfounded. He follows Cas into the kitchen and consequently his bedroom where they eat the pie and listen to the music Sam has chosen (and, of course, Dean has to show Cas some _real_ music after that because no one can listen to Sam’s shit, it’s just not possible).

It’s not until a little while later that he realizes he has done way more than what was expected of him today.

 

**3.**

 

Because he’s not in the mood of going out yet again to purchase _fucking flowers_ he instead searches the bunker for every kind of art supply that he can find. Turns out the Man of Letters aren’t that much of an artsy bunch but he manages to at least acquire a few different watercolors and two canvases for them to paint on; because fuck this, they’re going to watch Bob Ross and paint a fucking mountainscape or whatever, he isn’t an artist.

Cas is in the library and reading a book – Lisey’s story – while casually lounging in an armchair that they had found at the side of the road just a few weeks ago. He takes out a book mark out of his shirt pocket and puts it on the page he’s currently reading before closing the book.

“Have you ever read Stephen King, Dean?” he asks and smiles at him, nodding to the chair next to him. Dean would love to sit down, but he has a plan.

“Yeah, but just the classics – Pet Sematary, Carrie, It, stuff like that. I don’t know this one.”

“It’s about love,” he explains. “At least that’s what I think it is. I’m not sure yet. Sam has gifted it to me today.” He tilts his head. “It was very thoughtful of him. I like it.” Only now he realizes the art supplies in Dean’s hands. “What are you painting?”

“Oh – nothing. I thought that maybe, I don’t know, you’d like to paint something. With me, I mean.”

“I always love to spend time with you, Dean,” he says and it sounds so honest that Dean can feel a lump building in his throat. Cas wastes no time and puts the book on the table in order to take some of the watercolors and paintbrushes out of Dean’s hands. “What do we paint?”

“I – really have no idea. I thought we could – dunno, I could set up the laptop and we could watch some Bob Ross. Do you know him?”

“Metatron has given me knowledge about everything that’s even remotely related to pop culture, yes, I know him,” Cas smiles and looks at Dean adoringly. “But we can still watch him.”

Dean hesitates. “We – we can also paint something different. You know. I wouldn’t want to bore you. If you have something else in mind, you – you know –” He’s rambling now but he doesn’t know how to stop.

“Well… It certainly wouldn’t be _boring_ , but if I could choose anything –” Now Cas stops. He looks at Dean uncertainly and doesn’t continue.

“What, Cas?”

“I… I would like to paint your soul.” When Dean doesn’t react immediately, Cas rushes to offer more explanation. “I mean – I don’t want you to feel awkward, it’s just – it’s something I miss being human, you know? Not knowing what your soul looks like – and Sam’s, of _course_. Painting it – I fear I would lose the memory some day, so maybe painting it… would help.”

Dean’s still at a loss what to say.

“No – I’m sorry, we don’t have to do this. Let’s just watch Bob Ross. I’m sorry.” Cas quickly turns around and tries to leave to get his laptop but Dean holds him back.

“Wait, we can do this. Of course. But you’ll have to tell me which colors to use, I’ve never seen it,” he tries to lighten the mood. It doesn’t exactly _work_ , but at least Cas doesn’t look like he wants to leave immediately anymore.

Because Dean is absolutely lost and he also doesn’t want to particularly paint his own soul he simply tries to do some abstract art with the colors Cas is using, painting a few lines in broad strokes on his own canvas (it looks pathetic, but as he said, _he’s not an artist_ ) all the while desperately trying not to look at Cas’ painting of… _him_ , by all means.

Cas has entered a state of absolute trance and only interrupts his work to mix new colors, muttering under his breath ‘this isn’t right, I doubt humans can even _perceive_ this color, why do I do this?’. It takes two hours before he finally throws away his paintbrush and wipes over his face in frustration. A streak of a faint green is all over his nose and Dean can’t prevent himself from reaching out and wiping it away.

For a moment, neither of them speaks.

“Thanks,” Cas finally says and looks back to the painting. “It’s not… it’s _nothing_ , I guess, but it’s the best replica I could do with the limited colors and depth the human eye can perceive.”

Dean’s soul, apparently, is a mix of different greens, some very faint, others so bright it almost hurts his eyes, mixed with a few golden dots and a bright white circle around everything. It’s breathtaking and Dean doesn’t even want to imagine how it would look if Cas had, as he said, the actual colors.

“It’s… it’s really great, Cas,” he whispers and wishes he could have done something similar. This exercise has been about doing some special for Cas, not the other way round.

“You’re welcome.”

It’s not until a little while later that he realizes Cas has taken Dean’s terrible painting back into his room.

 

**4.**

 

The next day is a disaster. In multiple ways. He postpones buying the flowers as long as he can, locks himself in his room and researches the different meanings of flowers (he doesn’t want to risk Cas, being a former angel and bloody know-it-all, receiving the flowers and reading too much into it or things he doesn’t mean _he doesn’t mean them he doesn’t_ ).

When he’s finally certain that waiting any longer will make him stand in front of closed doors he hastily drives to the next store, picks up the first bouquet he can find that doesn’t have ‘please fuck me into next Thursday’ written on it ( _because that would send the wrong message_ ) and all but throws it on the counter. The cashier smiles at him with a sympathetic look. “Trouble in paradise?”

“No,” Dean answers clipped, and that settles it. He drives back to the bunker and only stands in front of Cas door for maybe, _maybe_ 15 minutes (the bag with the flowers put down after five minutes because this shit can get heavy) before he finally knocks. Not really waiting for an invitation, he simply opens the door and freezes in shock.

Cas is standing severely under dressed in the middle of his room. Only in boxer shorts and a very clean, dark blue shirt he looks into the small mirror on top of his desk and apparently tries to do his tie the right way.

“Um,” Dean says and wants, he _definitely_ wants to turn around and go away but his legs are somehow not moving.

Without turning his gaze away from the mirror Cas greets him as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening. “Hello, Dean,” he says. “I’m just dressing up for tonight.”

“T- tonight?”

“Yes. Sam is apparently taking me out to dinner today. I was a little bit worried that he wants to romantically pursue me but he assured me that this isn’t the case. We’re trying the new burger joint in town.”

The bright hot pain in his gut is not a flash of jealousy. “Is he now?” he asks and desperately tries to find a bad gay joke he can make but finds none.

“Yes.” He states the fact like it’s no big deal and returns to fumbling with his tie. Dean immediately takes a step forward. Cas looks like he’s struggling, he _has_ to help him, right?

So he does. Without even announcing what he wants to do he steps forward until they’re almost _too_ close and reaches for the tie. Of course, Cas lets him, like always and just watches him in awe – _no, he just watches him to look how it’s done correctly_.

When he’s finished, he tries to take a step back but his legs betray him. Still looking Cas right in the eye they stay there for a little while, swaying into each others orbits without actually touching, until Cas finally lets out a short breath of air and closes his eyes, leaning even more forward, impossibly so.

Dean’s breath hitches. That isn’t part of the plan. It isn’t. It can’t be. Kissing is tomorrow’s task. And Cas doesn’t even want to be kissed, he just – he doesn’t _know_ what he wants. _Sam has probably shown him to_ _many_ _damn romance movies_.

He quickly takes a step back. “Um, I have something for you,” he awkwardly says and rushes to pick the bag up off the floor. Cas opens his eyes and looks sad.

“Oh,” is all he says. Dean pushes the flowers into his hand. “…thanks.” He doesn’t look happy, at all.

“Yeah… no problem.” _This is getting out of hand_. It were only supposed to be a few good deeds for Cas to make him happy but all he does is make him sad. He wants to leave immediately and has already turned around but Cas stops him.

“Wait – do you want to go to the dinner with us? Sam hasn’t said anything but I’m sure he won’t mind. I fear it would be… awkward with only the two of us.”

He owes him at least this, Dean thinks, and besides, he really doesn’t like the feel of letting Cas go alone on a fucking _date_ with Sam, so he agrees.

Later they sit at a small table, Cas next to Dean, Sam in front of them, and the weird atmosphere between them has almost vanished. They eat burgers and share fries and laugh with Sam; after a few beers, Dean even works up the courage to lean back and offhandedly put an arm on Cas’ backrest. A few minutes later, Cas leans back too, causing Dean’s hand to casually graze the fluffy hair on Cas’ neck. They both pretend not to shiver.

It’s not until a little while later that he realizes his hand hasn’t left Cas neck one time.

 

**5.**

 

It’s past midnight when they finally head back to bunker. Dean is pleasantly intoxicated, Cas is walking the fine line between absolutely delighted and completely smashed and Sam is the only one who’s even remotely holding it together, smiling all the way to back because of _god-knows-what_ , certainly not Dean.

Sam holds the door open for them when they exit the Impala and enter the bunker. “I’m going to the bathroom. Want to watch something after that? I’m not in the mood for sleeping now. I could go through my collection.”

“Sure, why not.” Dean looks at Cas who in return only smiles and tries to nod enthusiastically. He loses his balance and kind of leans to the side, brushing Dean’s shoulder and letting his head sink on it. Dean _doesn’t_ blush because his alcohol level doesn’t allow it. “Okay,” he clears his throat, “I’m bringing this huge pile of alcohol and questionable decisions into the library and maybe we can watch something there?”

They go their way; Sam to the bathroom, Dean – with a cas-shaped lump by his side – to the library. Cas slides nearer and nearer with every step they take until he’s basically inseparable from Dean. When they reach their destination Dean tries to entangle both of them but Cas is holding on very clearly.

“Cas, buddy,” he tries. _This isn’t part of the plan_ , he thinks. No touching. It has been a huge rule in the Winchester household and it’s – well, it’s _important_. “We should set everything up, hmm? Maybe sit down over there, I’ll go make some popcorn –”

“No.”

“N- no?”

“I don’t want you to go.” Cas steps back, but it’s not enough to actually separate them. Dean holds his breath. From this proximity Cas doesn’t look drunk, like, at all. This is dangerous. It _should_ be dangerous.

Then he remembers that technically, it is their fifth day. And he still has to kiss Cas. He had planned for something like a quick peck in the kitchen, play it off as a joke, but now – now there’s an _opportunity_.

And it’s frightening.

“I don’t want you to go,” Cas repeats and closes his eyes. Dean remembers this situation. It has only been a few hours where they’d been in this exact same spot – but then, of course, he wasn’t supposed to kiss him. He had _rules_ , okay, he was working with a _plan_.

The plan, right now, says to kiss Cas, and so he does.

It’s not until a little while later that he realizes he should _breathe_ , and he should probably _stop_ , so he does. This isn’t part of the plan anymore.

 

**+1**

 

He doesn’t come far. As soon as he pulls his head back and inhales a sharp breath – Cas does the same – Cas’ hands come up his collar and almost immediately pull him back in.

“Cas –” he says, because this had a purpose and the purpose is done and they shouldn’t be doing this, “Cas...” and this time, it sounds more like a whimper, and they’re kissing again.

“I’m not”, Castiel says between kisses, “that drunk.” With that he starts licking a trail along Dean’s jawline. “I actually” – Dean groans when he hits a particularly sensitive spot – “have developed quite a resistance to alcohol. I think that's what hanging out with the Winchesters does to you.” He continues his exploration further down to Dean’s neck, kissing all the way down to the collar he’s still grabbing two fists full of. “So, I’m reasonably accountable. Do you want to do this?”

“Do – do what?” he asks, because apparently, he is pretty dumb.

“Have sex,” Cas answers, of course. And maybe Dean is too drunk for this because his brain immediately thinks _this is a great idea_ and not _we probably shouldn’t be doing this_.

They’re also still in the library which is a problem of its own but when Cas starts to let go of Dean’s collar in order to drag his hands lower – not without stopping for a short while right above his nipples, slowly stroking them – Dean really doesn’t have the strength to complain.

Cas pushes him back until they reach the edge of the table and quickly works on Dean’s zipper. He pushes it down and without further ado pulls Dean’s dick out of his boxers and starts pumping, once. Dean’s brain short-circuits. He should probably… _do_ something, _reciprocate_ , but all he can do right now is put both hands on the table in order to steady himself and hopefully not melt into a puddle of goo.

With one hand, Cas starts to work his way under Dean’s shirt to slowly stroke his nipples again; the other one still pumps Dean’s cock slowly, only occasionally speeding up the tempo long enough for Dean to think _yes, finally_ , until he falls back into an agonizingly slow rhythm.

When he simultaneously grazes Dean’s nipples and starts to playfully bite Dean’s throat (which – _where did he learn that_ , Dean absentmindedly thinks), Dean wheezes. “Jesus,” he cries out.

Cas chuckles. “Actually, I’m not in fact Jesus,” he attempts to explain nonchalantly, but it’s apparent he too isn’t entirely unaffected. He sucks in a harsh breath and lets go of Dean’s nipples, starting to touch himself through his jeans while taking care of Dean.

Dean catches Cas’ lips now because he’s sure he’s going to spontaneously combust if he has to endure Cas biting his neck one more time ( _it’s fucking overwhelming, that’s what_ ). They kiss hungrily for a while, Cas still working on both Dean’s and his cock, and Dean’s breathing quickens as he’s slowly nearing the edge.

 _Holy shit, he thinks, holy shit, this is actually happening, this is Cas’ hand on my cock, holy shit_ – and that thought does it for him and sends him over the edge, whimpering in Cas’ mouth and hopelessly moving his hips while spilling all over Cas’ hands.

“Jesus,” he says again and takes a deep breath before attempting to return the favor.

He’s still in a bliss post-orgasm when he bats Cas’ hands away and Cas starts to groan when he starts pushing down that zippers and it may or may not be why they don’t actually hear footsteps approaching. “Hey, I brought some film adaptions of Stephe– oh HELL NO.”

Dean opens his eyes first, quickly trying to take a step away from Cas but horribly failing because there’s a table behind him. “Um,” he begins but Cas interrupts him.

“We’re kind of busy, Sam,” he says annoyed. Sam has covered his eyes by now and is slowly stepping back.

“Yeah, I – I _noticed_. I guess I just – leave to you that. Yep. I think I _do_ want to go to bed now actually. And never come out again.”

With that, he turns around and quickly walks away. Dean’s still standing there, dick out, still reasonably drunk, and it somehow occurs to him that this is fucking _funny_ , and he starts to laugh. “I won the bet by the way!” he calls after Sam. _It is_ _actually_ _fucking hilarious_ , he thinks.

“Like hell you did! You owe me at least three months of clean-up duty for this image that _I’ll never get out of my head, ever_!”

But Dean – and Cas – don’t really listen anymore.

“We should resume this in the bedroom,” Cas suggests and Dean nods.

“Probably,” he answers. “I mean, I still have to take care of you.”

It’s not until a little while later, when they’re lying in Dean’s bed – together – that he realizes they should maybe talk about it. Then again, maybe they don’t. Maybe that’s the actual gist of all of this; taking care of people. _This fucking book wasn’t that bad of an idea_ , Dean thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always appreciated!!! I've also thought about making a fic from Sam's perspective because while I showed Sam's good deeds over the course of the fic they never really get the *spotlight*, so yeah maybe I'll get to that one day.^^ I’m also on [tumblr](mijrake.tumblr.com), you may always send me an ask or dump your headcanons there. :P


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